


piledriver waltz

by oikita



Series: phantom gunmetal [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Death, Slight only, Violence, not really but oh well failed attempt again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29851338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oikita/pseuds/oikita
Summary: A passing moment presents Kita Shinsuke to Suna Rintarou, both of their high momentum clashing against the fleeting time of events. With the grand station in chaos, Kita uses the time to take off his gloves and urges Suna to do the same. One pair of hands is cold, one pair is warm. The warm encompasses the cold and brings it inner peace. “I am forever in debt to you, and you can never forgive me for the hell I’ve brought upon you. In this short moment, grant me the permission to let you go, to let you have the life you deserve.”"Yes yes yes I do like you. I am afraid to write the stronger word."-Virginia Woolf
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: phantom gunmetal [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2193717
Kudos: 8
Collections: SunaOsa





	piledriver waltz

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the second fic of the series so it's advisable to read the first one so you can catch up better.
> 
> [playlist that i never updated as promised](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3GPIL1uKtfKY89bYQn8Eqc?si=iq0-i3iDT9WYlvrmayzAtg) (this is a universe so the songs fit different stories)
> 
> As you can see, the tags pretty much explains what's going on. I do not have extensive knowledge about this genre and action isn't my best suit, let alone world building. I can't even remember the terminologies needed while writing rip. 
> 
> Imagery inspired by Space Sweepers! I love Captain Jang hehe

Everyone in Inarizaki is a traitor to their own faction, except they don’t have enough confidence to walk against their chief. Neither Kita or Aran is the chief, it’s just that they were trustworthy enough to be left alone as the supervisors of the missions. But neither of them trust the boss himself, too. It’s just a matter of time that one day they will gather enough people to play the black in a chess board, the opposing one, and they will overthrow the boss himself. Kita likes to use the word _will_ instead of _shall_ , because at the end of the day, he never fails his own words.

Suna hasn’t been on the battlefield for weeks. A better, less hostile psychologist is checking in on him almost everyday, especially after years of trauma. It was Osamu’s request and Suna couldn’t simply turn it down. He felt bad — _worse_ , when Osamu admitted to him just how much he mattered. He went to the level of hazard to save him, to make sure he was safe even if Suna never did that to him at least once. The act of selflessness can never be found in a lifetime where people only think of themselves.

However, he finds out about the Federation’s plan of taking human life to space. There’s already a planet being curated for proliferation, and the doctors are apparently heading towards that specific planet to test the grounds, so when the time is right, everyone can leave Earth. Earth is no longer safe, and Japan is among the first few countries who have a right to liberally inspect the exoplanet which can carry on the journey of life. One of the chosen doctors is Kozume Kenma, and Suna knows him from camp. He was shy and timid before, preferred to be an army doctor than to hold a laser gun. Suna and Kenma had different career paths, but they still landed on the same floor, in the Federation’s headquarters, years later after being separated.

Speaking of which, Suna is among the chosen soldiers that will partake in the experiment. He is the escort of the doctors, which means he’ll see Kenma again. There are only selected individuals allowed in the experiments that actually sparked controversy among the citizens. Most of them thought this was only done to sabotage the lives of those particular groups, knowing that no one could refuse to the orders of the supreme leader.

Sakusa made sure he was going to be safe, though.Just a couple of days ago, Ushijima had managed to secure a deal with another yakuza faction to ensure that the participants that work under their wing will receive security treatment, and when something happens to them, they will try their best to protect them. Suna knew it was impossible to prevent that, knowing the circumstances were indecipherable unless they were in current occurrence. As a soldier for nearly his entire life, he’s seen the ups and downs of a good plan and how people were too complacent to consider having a backup plan, and how their lives were thrown into the pit of nothingness, with their desperate howls burning the throat of limbo.

Osamu knows he’ll partake in the mission and has never talked to him since then. This is important to Suna. His moping can’t convince someone like the latter to back down. Besides, this is forced enlistment. Any defiance can have them executed. Suna doesn’t want to die because he’s stubborn. He’d rather die in honor. Kenma needs assistance too, with his plan to take his secret mission there. He’s been trying to formulate this plan to take Hinata Shouyou and live with him there, even though the humanoid has not been awake since his reparation period. Kenma is beyond desperate here, and as a doctor who swore to do everything to make the dead live longer, he takes the burden of his pressure to keep Hinata alive. The humanoid breathes but ceases to make his life prominent. He remains dormant, like a volcano that loses its ability to activate.

A worn out copy of Chainsaw Man volume 1 sits beside Suna, whose body is confined under thick sheets and above a firm mattress. He doesn’t like being treated like he’s bedridden, because his prowess will wear out like the manga beside him — wrinkled, fragile in touch. And just as his mind reminds him of a young man that was once his childhood friend, Miya Osamu himself enters the room, still wearing his greasy uniform, but better than he was yesterday, when he was sent to the hospital where Kenma works because of an injury. Technology healed him faster than his body did. Suna looks at him in furious worry, brows furrowed. “You’re so uptight when it comes to my health yet you jeopardized yours,” he sardonically says. “Don’t give me that _in the name of love_ bullshit either, ‘Samu. I’m not letting this happen again.”

“I wasn’t even gonna use that reason anyway,” Osamu retorts, bitter chuckle sounding sweeter than medicine. He refuses to sit on the pristine white bed, so he leans against the border of the door, staining the varnish with dusts of coal. “Also, how are you feeling? Therapy well?”

“Yes,” Suna replies shortly. “I want to go back to work. I’m bored, and the expedition is in a month.”

“Do you have to?” He seems worried, far more worried than the older Suna who seemed reluctant to allow his own son to cooperate in such a dangerous mission. _I can pay them to let you out, son. They are easily swayed by money._ Those words stuck deep inside Suna Rintarou, because never once in his life had he heard his father become scared of his possible downfall. And Osamu is just as annoying as his dad — all of them are just equally stubborn in different aspects. “I have to,” is the answer which Osamu fails to accept with rationality. He looks, then slams a fist on the door that rattles the servants outside.

He’d be ignorant if he weren’t aware of the many times Osamu proved he’d never let Suna get stung by the touch of a bee. Even if Osamu trusted him enough to have let him live alone and without him for nearly a decade, he was always afraid of letting Suna work alone, work in the industry itself. This is a treacherous world; one can’t simply assume they’ll live without a threat to their life. It’s common knowledge to know society is a place where you can only trust yourself.

“You have to stop treating me like a goddamn child, ‘Samu.” The emphasis on every word stretches a quick pause in between them. Osamu stares at him, as if in disbelief. As if his words are defiant of the common good.

And so he chuckles sarcastically, with its bitterness far more destructive than the previous one. “Is it selfish? Is it selfish to wish for your safety? This is for your sake, and I can… I can persuade the Chief to—”

“It’s selfish,” cuts deeper than a knife, like creating a trench in Osamu’s heart. “This is what I _want_ , ‘Samu. Leave me fucking be. At the end of the day, we will all _die._ No one gets to stay in this universe, so you have to expect and prepare yourself for your own death, my death, and your brother’s fucking death.” Suna feels his own spit flicking out of his mouth. He spits fire in the intensity of a star — it stains Osamu forever.

What Suna doesn’t understand is what Osamu fails to perceive as well. The world is unfair, but we can avoid danger. It’s just that when something is predicted to happen, there’s often a fifty-fifty chance of a good and bad outcome. The gamble here is that you can never tell which one will be your fate, and this is the risk everyone is taking. Some aren’t even aware they’re already staking their lives in this stupid game.

Osamu plays with his gear, loose-hanging from his breast pocket. “I… I’m afraid of losing you. Because I know everyday’s an opportunity to let go of you, even if I don’t want it to happen.” He sounds more in love than a lover, with tears blurring his vision, and he wipes it away harshly with a rough swipe of his forearm against his eyes. “I wish… Fuck, I’m so weak, utterly weak when it comes to you. It’s so fucking annoying,” he hisses against laughing tears. “You think I wanted to gate-keep you? You think I wanted to— fuck this stupid harness,” he grunts, yanking off the tangled contraption on his black harness. “I just… If you leave, please just don’t tell me. I’d… I’d stop you if you tell me.”

He exits the room, door creaking as he pulls it close.

Suna was a rookie soldier when he first knew how awful it was to be on a battlefield. Blood would splatter against his face and he’d have no time to sneer in disgust. He’d have to run for his life, even if it was just the training grounds. Every practice was enacted as though they were in the main field. If he were weak-bodied, he wouldn’t last during the first training. He’d go home, pass out on his bed, wake up next morning with not enough time to eat. It was brutal. It was probably why Osamu had been protective of him.

Osamu trained on the same grounds with him. Late had it been when he realized those occasional stares weren’t because they were on the same team, but because he _cared_ , and way too much at that. They were kids when they met, not babies. They’d only known each other by chance. Young Suna wondered if there was a world without so much violence, at least wherever he was. Where he’d be sixteen and studying in a school, playing volleyball or whatever. He would play with a team, and his only problem aside from school was his future; if he would go pro or find a different career path.

But instead, he was here, on a mock trial of war, dancing piledriver waltz with every step a turning point in his life. If he missed, he’d lose a part of himself. And in every path he took, whether he was behind a bigger object or playing the jester when he ran presently to the pretend opponents, there was someone behind him who played the role of a shadow to protect him rather than to be a soldier who could protect himself. Miya Osamu. Never had been anyone else.

The expedition comes sooner, with a week's distance from now. Suna is better, warming up for weeks so he can go back to the headquarters. He hasn’t sparked a conversation with Osamu for a while — but he never wanted to. Atsumu’s recommendation aligned with Sakusa’s, so Ushijima decided to make Osamu busy. Suna barely sees him at the local gym stations, or even the ones specifically built and reserved for soldiers like them, most likely because he’s been sent out of the city as well.

At a particular event, someone’s birthday (Suna doesn’t actually know who, but she seems special enough to earn herself a grand celebration with almost every important name in her guest list), Suna meets Kozume Kenma, his friend of a decade at the bar juxtaposed in the left side of the function hall, where all of the introverted, golden people share their stillness with the bartenders or people of their same calibre. Suna knows he isn’t one of those who like to mingle with the crowd, let alone in a rusty companionship with people who might send him off to his early death. He looks different wearing something else other than his white coat or the soldier uniform, with his hair neatly tied into a thinner cascade behind him. Strands are let loose as bangs, but he doesn’t look as sincerely enthused as he’s supposed to be.

“I think I’m worried I lost Kunimi in the crowd,” Kenma speaks, nothing more than a glass of water in his grip. “You know him, right?”

If there’s anything Suna knows about Kunimi Akira, it’s the fact he was once a commoner who got himself a position in the home of the President’s right hand. With a connection so strong, no one else can take him away. But it’s not an easy leeway to freedom. From what he knows, Kunimi doesn’t get to go out a lot. People of his status are jeopardized easily in a short amount of time, and with the economic class that determines one’s wellness, he can immediately be thrown out because he was just a commoner. As a matter of fact, he’s labeled as a liability to Kageyama. Whatever he does, it will reflect the latter’s image.

“Yeah, I do,” Suna replies, tilting his wine glass to consume its content. He retracts it back, hangs it low, diaphragm level. “How are you holding up, though? I heard you’re undergoing some sort of… catastrophe. Is Hinata still not awake?”

This is where Kenma falters. Only Kageyama, Kunimi and Suna can speak of Hinata’s wellbeing to him. He lowers his head, perhaps in agony, in stress, weighing in the doubt that his unproclaimed lover will never wake up. “He’s still in a coma,” says it all, the way Kenma just loses his cool persona right away. “And… I don’t know. God, I don’t know. Are the cells not enough? Were they too much? Is his heart allergic to it? Did I read too many books? Did I hold his hand too tightly? I don’t know, Suna. I don’t have fate in anything anymore. I’d go apeshit anytime now.”

“Sorry. I should’ve not talked to you about it.”

“It’s okay. Still would’ve even if you didn’t.” Silence wafts in the air but not for long, when Kenma asks for a refill and shifts in his seat. “I heard about you and Osamu. Tough love, huh?”

“How were you able to talk to him?” Suna has his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“He was sent to the hospital after a mission,” Kenma tells him. “Or so I thought,” a sip of his Martini. “Apparently, he found out he was being cloned again during the end of the fifth year of the mission he and his brother took. The former clone was being updated, and it’s quick to do so due to the evolving technology Inarizaki uses. The duplication of cells is easier, because upon joining the faction, they ask for pieces of your hair, a test tube worth of your blood and urine sample, and they ask for an up-to-date data of it every five years. You know that, right?”

In the years he’d spent in Inarizaki, there’s never a time they asked for his DNA. Only the clippings of his nails. Other than that, none. So he shakes his head but Kenma still remains calm instead of surprised. “I’m pretty sure it’s because your father prohibited it and paid them not to. Inarizaki is easily swayed by money so not getting sampled isn’t a far cry. Returning back to Miya Osamu, he seems to have… connected with you somehow. What do you feel about it?”

Never once had another person taken the initiative to talk to him about this. Not Sakusa, nor the people he’s worked with. People are hard to trust. In the lifetime where everyone needs to hold onto someone for the benefit of not staying in a high status or alive, one can never tell if the person that stays in one’s shadow remains there forever. No one is willing to put themself in a position where they have to lower their pride, to submit — even Suna agrees that he himself has the same sentiment. But never about Osamu. Probably because Osamu lived his entire life being a support system to his brother. Taking on missions by himself is definitely a change, since he isn’t behind his brother anymore.

Anyone who knows him enough like Suna can ascertain that Osamu is just as strong if not better than his brother. He’s… reluctant, for a reason nobody can ever understand. He doesn’t accept any type of mission. Everything he does is as close to menial soldier jobs. The title just makes him fancy because he’s a Miya. If he were somebody else, he’d be lower than Suna.

“What did he tell you?”

“Almost all that resided in his mind,” says Kenma. “Hm, he started off with the reunion of you guys when you got abducted by his clone to your last conversation together,” he adds. “That whole bible verse thing was the show-stopper. I had to ask him if he was religious.”

That alone is the catapulting matter which made Suna feel bad for leaving him. He had professed his love in the manner that didn’t directly implied it, but made Suna’s heart determine so well and so clearly that it was.

“I…”

“And you’re going to leave someone like him,” Kenma sighs. “He and Kunimi are in the same boat. Kageyama is leaving, too.”

“How did he cope with it?”

Kenma chuckles, some strands of his stubborn blond hair falling from the grip of his hair tie. “Simple. He doesn’t talk about his feelings and wastes his time with him instead of properly— yeah, I kind of get it why he doesn’t want to confess.”

“Why?”

“Kageyama will not leave if he did,” he explains. “That’s the difference between you guys. You, Suna Rintarou, simply do not acknowledge that feeling that weighs you down. You blame it on trauma, on Osamu, on the weird hierarchy, on the evolution of the world, when love isn’t even involved in everything. The context makes it different. You _love_ Osamu, but you’re afraid of a strong word. You’re afraid of words. If you can go in front of the enemy without a drop of fear beading from your forehead, then you’re only afraid if they use Osamu against you. Like what they say, — _afraid to write the stronger word._ You try to think you hate him, but you actually don’t. It’s a way to convince yourself that taking a pill that’s easier to swallow will prevent you from choking on it. Am I right? Or do I have to make it simpler for you? You’re _scared_ of leaving someone you love because you grew up alone. Because the idea of losing someone only tastes bitter if it’s Osamu—”

“I get it,” Suna sniffles. “No need to make me cry in the same function where my fucking father is,” he laughs through the tears. “My mother would start panicking if my eyeliner is turning my tears into liquid ink.”

The doctor giggles along, offering a kept tissue from his pocket. “Here. Wipe your ugly face.”

“Fuck you.” Suna takes the tissue, wiping the tears hardly that the stream of his melted eyeliner barely stained his cheeks. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t want to tell him I love him. Maybe I don’t want him to lose me.”

“You have an option, Sunarin,” Kenma concludes, looking at his wristwatch as if their conversation went on longer than expected. “You can either join me in the expedition or stay home. I’ve got nothing to lose. I’m taking Shoyou with me. But you? You have your little sister here. The Sakusa-Ushijima family who treats you like their own. Your old superior Kita, who’s planning to overtake the Inarizaki chief. The Miya twins, especially Osamu. You’ve got people who are scared of losing you, not just because of your apt that is their shield, but because you matter to them. You _finally_ matter, Suna, to me, even. Don’t take that for granted. Don’t make selfish decisions. Your death is not your desire. It’s your escape from what you should be facing head on.”

Suna was nowhere older than seven when he asked Osamu why he was afraid to love anyone other than his family.

“Because my mother told me I love too much,” he said, short legs dangling as he sat on the rusted swing. “And if I love too much, I hold someone tight enough that losing them is losing a part of me, too.”

“Geez, are you really seven?” Suna teased him, afraid of using a strong word like the ones Osamu used. _Love. Lose. Enough._

Osamu only smiled at him, and started to shuffle his feet backwards before swinging to the sky. “My mother told me and ‘Tsumu — _love enough, lose enough. What you keep closer is what you lose sooner._ I didn’t get it at first, but she explained it to me. You’ll get it eventually—woah, holy shit I’m going too high!”

 _Cursing is bad,_ the other young boy would have said, but he was too distracted by the melody of his friend’s laugh. In this world, peace only existed with the person you wanted to be with. Everything was a matter of destruction.

The expedition is five hours from now.

Osamu is confined in the room, staring at the mahogany ceiling. He briefly remembers this room being Suna’s old confinement room, with the familiarity of the design close to his memory. It’s funny though — the same thick sheets and comfortable mattress are here, even the worn out Chainsaw Man manga. Suna didn’t change anything in the room, as though he literally just left. Yet when Osamu himself came to visit him during his sick days off, Suna couldn’t do the same for him.

He had a near death experience. Of course his clone was a humanoid in itself. He, a mere human being crafted by the old lore of nature, was almost nothing compared to the robot. It was more humane than machinery, though. A stronger version of him.

The thing is, life is so unfair. What did he do even to earn himself the biggest doom a human could possibly have? Of all the people those scientists and engineers could clone, why did it have to be him? It makes him frustrated to the point he badly wants to quit his job, but he’d have a hard time fending for himself and Suna. He chuckles bitterly at this. _As if he’d care._ Osamu loved unconditionally when it came to Suna. He could hardly return the sentiment and never once did a proper payback.

 _It’s okay,_ he convinces himself. _I brought this upon myself._

Someone knocks on the door and he almost assumes it’s Suna (love makes you dumb), but as it creaks open, a mop of blond appears and Osamu chooses to sneer. “Fuck you, ‘Samu. At least I care unlike Sunarin,” Atsumu spits upon arrival, controlling a tray with the pendant on his ring. The miso soup on top of the tray in a porcelain bowl smells freshly cooked from the pot, nearly achieving the aroma of home.

“How are you holding up, asshole? Leg still hurts?” This is asked by the older twin brother after he placed himself on the edge of the bed, commanding the pendant on his ring to transform the tray into a mini table. It lands atop Osamu’s thighs, with the board having a good distance from them. “I’m good, ‘Tsumu. You don’t have to spoon feed me, I’m not a baby,” he replies, with the whisper of a groan, grabbing the spoon from Atsumu's hand.

“Whatever.” Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I kinda got some intel from someone and apparently, Kita and Ojiro are trying to track down your clone.”

“I still doubt them after the first incident with Suna.”

“Suna is a criminal to them, ‘Samu. We executed their plan so we could make way for ours and the chief wouldn’t get suspicious,” Atsumh emphasizes each verb. “I don’t know why that won’t get into your head, as well as the fact you’re still not over him, which you should be.”

Then the thought comes back to him like the ring of a bicycle that echoes into the house once the owner comes home and their family awaits for them inside. It’s like the sound of waves crashing back to the shore. Today is the expedition, four and a half hours later they will fly to the other planet. With technological evolution, a travel of thousands of light years can only take up to half a year now, which means Suna will go back depending on how long the expedition is. And not only that — most expeditions do not have the same amount of people in the ship from departure, arrival and return. If something happens, Suna’s life is at stake.

“Atsumu.”

If Osamu calls his brother by his full first name, it means he’s _serious,_ and whatever he’s going to tell him is vital to both of them. This is why Atsumu turns back to him, eyes focused on him. “What?”

“I-Is there any way we could use the clone to _our_ advantage? At least, mine?”

“Context?”

“We can use the clone to… protect Suna there, you know? Omega Marine Prototype 1 can be there for him and—”

“Why is it that you hurt yourself for someone who can’t even lend a hand to hold you from falling? And what if Sunarin falls in love with your clone instead, huh? It doesn’t matter if we tell that it's a clone,” Atsumu snaps. “He is in _love_ with _you_ —”

“Don’t say it!” Osamu screams at him, gripping tightly on the handles of the tray as if he’d throw it. His face is red in fury, eyes set ablaze by frustration. “Don’t you _dare_ say it, ‘Tsumu. Don’t make me do something I’ll regret. Don’t me make run to the station and beg him to stay.” Tears, he’s never cried so much in a year.

Atsumu watches him in pity, with his heavy footsteps marking the way to Osamu, closer to him. He places his head on top of the other’s, arms wrapped around him. His twin brother wails, feeling so much when he can physically feel nothing. He had the façade of a strong man, but never let him too much or the mask would melt and never stone back to its original form.

“Is it selfish? Is it selfish to want what’s best for the both of us? Is it selfish to ask him to stay? Is it selfish to put his safety first over mine?”

There was a time, during the blooming stage of their youth, when both Osamu and Suna shared the same room. Suna top bunk, Osamu bottom bunk. The latter often fell asleep an hour earlier than the former, with his soft snores putting Suna to sleep.

A storm once came and both of them jolted awake. Suna wasn’t afraid of it — he was once sent outside of the room to sleep on the cold asphalt even when the rain kept pouring. Osamu had never been sent to a room without his brother. Back in the days, the thunders were his sworn enemy, and he started bawling his eyes out the moment he sat up on his bed.

Suna heard his cries and climbed down to his bunk. “Don’t cry, it’s okay.” They both wished they were only students sleeping behind the class in the classroom instead of being taught how to fight in a war, how to defend people who probably never cared about them. “I’m here, ‘Samu. I’m your safe and sound, okay? Snuggle closer, it’s getting cold. I promise I won’t leave you. A safe place is where a warm heart sleeps. Repeat after me.”

_“A safe place is where a warm heart sleeps.”_

Osamu could hear Suna’s own heartbeat. It was calm, with its beating melodious and full of calming rhythm. It settled him back to sleep. _Human embrace and everything warm, could put the heart back to calm._ Suna would always be his safe haven, his coven of love.

There’s a drop of a metal ball inside Suna’s chest. He’s expected to be nervous. This is one of the most important expeditions done by the Federation of this generation. His uniform squeezes him like bounds of metal contraptions screwed to his body. The tightness, suffocation, and false worship that looms in the logo of the Federation on his arm.

The person who walks beside him wears a white colored uniform, a protected shell that covers his body from harmful chemicals found in the base of the station and likely in the exoplanet as well. Suna looks at him briefly, shorter than a glance, worry spiraling in his mind. The violent color of Kenma’s irises gives a little leverage in Suna’s mind to make the doctor’s plan become more of a fact than a theory.

“Kenma.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kenma replies, but this sparks confusion in the soldier. His eyes grow curious at the gaze that Kenma transfers to him. No longer feral, but a sort of look one with extreme courage will have. “You can go, Suna.” And there’s even less decipherability in the addition.

“What’s going on—”

Time is an illusion. A concept made by people who have no control of their own body. There’s no such thing as a speed faster than light. Everything happens within a matter of inertia and movement. Nothing else should be predetermined by calculated numbers. _Let it be._

With a sharp slice into gravity, two bullets; golden with fire, loaded with fury. They pass by Suna, a safe distance from his helmeted ears, and the swerving trajectory of the bullets sped up and upon disappearance, a pandemonium rises from the far distance of the President and his constituents to the soldiers and doctors behind them.

( _“The Inarizaki Chief was shot! The President! Protect the President!”_

 _The President is down, where are the Kageyamas?!”_ )

A passing moment presents Kita Shinsuke to Suna Rintarou, both of their high momentum clashing against the fleeting time of events. With the grand station in chaos, Kita uses the time to take off his gloves and urges Suna to do the same. One pair of hands is cold, one pair is warm. The warm encompasses the cold and brings it inner peace. “I am forever in debt to you, and you can never forgive me for the hell I’ve brought upon you. In this short moment, grant me the permission to let you go, to let you have the life you deserve.”

“What?”

“I’m freeing you, _Suna._ No more code names,” Kita smiles for the last time. “It was nice to be your big brother when you’re still the boy who tailed behind me back then.”

_WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY—_

“ **Go, Suna.** ”

He runs for as fast as his boots can permit him, speed surpassing that of a cheetah, but not standing close to the adrenaline his heart is chasing after. Shooting people who dares to close to stopping him, he grabs on the top of the metal gate and jumps, falling onto the other side, to his escapade. An abandoned Suzuki shows itself to him, keys stupidly left in the ignition.

The drive to the Sakusa-Ushijima mansion is quite long, with an approximation of 30 minutes in travel time, including traffic. On this part of the journey, Suna is calm, terrifyingly so, with his adrenaline still intact in deadly speed, that anything in sight through the window panels are blurred and smudged and easily passed by. The top portion of the mansion comes into view and there’s relief washing over him, even when the threat of people following after him might just be a reality from being an inescapable forethought.

Upon arrival, the gateway is a subtle zigzag. There is a path towards the entrance. The gates themselves are encrypted and can only allow program-detected identifications. A light that emits non-blinding laser lights passes through and into the truck like radio waves. After thirty seconds, Suna’s code name appears on the screen below the button and the gates open.

Even when he completed the first inspection, there are detector cameras scattered on the way to the mansion, showing Suna’s code name. A static vibrates in his earpiece, causing his right eye to twitch. { “Sunroom Rivers?” }

“Gin?”

{ “Hey, don’t say my real name! Not even my nickname! Are you with someone?” }

“No,” Suna croaks. “I came on my own. _Escaped,_ for better words. Why? Got a spot for an ugly and dirty Suzuki?”

{ “Vintage? Uh, dunno if Sakusa-san will allow that. I’ll put you in the spare garage of the bodyguards.” }

Suna smirks. “Even better.” And Gin cuts the line.

The spare garage is tucked in between the cottages where the bodyguards temporarily stay in when they’re on duty. Suna finds the space allotted for him, where Gin comes back on the line but only static and background noises of him talking to Riseki. Suna twists his torso and places a hand on the back of the passenger’s seat, doing a reverse parking. Every push on the accelerator he moves back and back until the neon light bulb above produces a _ding!_ sound, which locks the mini truck in position.

As he exits the car, he realizes that the GPS is on. A chill runs down his spine, causing a millisecond delay in his movement. With his armored fist, he bashes the screen of the Suzuki mini-truck and takes off his harness, which holds small bags of mini-smart phones, holographic devices and a GPS chip. He sets all of them on fire outside, causing belched smoke to rise from the _bonfire_ of gadgets.

Ginjima smells it from the entrance, nose scrunched with a finger covering his nostrils. “You really had to do that here?”

A sly smirk reappears on Suna’s face, but it’s slightly worn out due to his fatigue. “They offered me a container of fuel and a lighter. Might as well make sure none of those fuckers at the station find me.”

The ash-blond operator grins and pats his back hard enough to get Suna to stumble. “Go to your loverboy, stupid Sunarin. You’ve pined for too long.”

“This is the perfect timing, Gin.”

And so he runs.

( Osamu whips his head to the side to face Suna with a comforting smile that imitates his smiling eyes, devoid of sin and impurities. “Tsumu said that when you replace the word _love_ in the verse, it becomes more heartfelt.”

Suna smiles, finally, and it stretches across his face horizontally and strains his muscles. “Recite it to me before Sakusa calls us again.”

_“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.”_

The irony of reciting a holy verse in the filthiest land stings Suna’s chest. When Osamu recites it, he sounds like an angel disguised as a devil. All he needs is a pair of wings and a set of more eyes; strip him off of his sins and his clothes of digital war and he’s everything atheism is afraid of.

 _“Suna is patient, Suna is kind. He does not envy, does not boast; he is not proud. Suna does not dishonor others, he is not self-seeking, he is not easily angered, he keeps no record of wrongs. Suna does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. He always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”_ )

Suna arrives, just in time.

Sakusa and Ushijima are talking outside of the guest room with Atsumu, discussing Suna and his safety prior to Osamu’s request for reassurance. However, shortly after Ushijima earns a phone call about the incident at the Johzenji Station, one of Suna’s guns falls from its sheath and it falls loudly on the floor. Three pairs of eyes are looking at him, sharp and shocked. “Suna?” A chorused call.

“Uh—”

“Hey—”

“S-S-Samu!” He splutters. “Where is Osamu?”

“Wait—”

“I need to see him.” It’s not a demand, a want or a need (despite the usage of it). It’s a command. And there’s no one in the hallway to stop the escaped soldier from reaching the doorknob of the room, twisting it to let the decorated door creak against the floor.

The welcoming view is Osamu watching a show on television, with his legs exposed, one still covered with a cast. His eyes are droopy, his groggy stance indicating lack of sleep. But upon seeing Suna at the doorway, his gaze lights up, lips inevitably forming into a convex. “Suna.”

“Osamu.”

Suna takes off his boots, socked feet shuffling their way to Osamu. He hugs him, body weight carefully controlled so Osamu can breathe properly. He stifles his tears, pressing his lips into a thin line as if to barricade the droplets from coming out.

“I have so much tell you, dear ‘Samu, and I’m just so happy to see you so I can’t start right away—”

“Breathe, Suna, breathe.”

_I’M OKAY I’M OKAY I’M OKAY I’M OKAY—_

“I’m sorry for everything, Osamu,” he finally starts, grabbing a nearby chair to sit on. He places himself next to Osamu with his warm hands holding the brunet’s cold one. “I’m sorry for even daring to leave you, for not… keeping you warm the way you always did to me. And… do you still remember? _A safe place is where a warm heart sleeps._ I… you’ve been my refuge, ‘Samu, even if I never asked for it, even if I never looked for it. You’re the safety I was promised with, the reason why there is a purpose for me to continue to live on. There are many unforgivable things a person like me can never be pardoned for, like my criminal record, rebellion and egoism.

“But I want to make up for the loss, for your loss, for the days I’ve let the void eat the empty space in your heart. I want to be there for you more often than how you were there for me. Let me be there for you, ‘Samu. Let me keep the cold side of your bed warm and… wrap my arms around you again when you get scared. I want to be strong for you so you don’t have to be scared of cowering away. I’ll flip the domains of worlds for you. You told me _I’ll make hell safe for you._ I promise you, _I’ll turn famine into abundance, poverty into wealth, and danger into security for you._ You won’t have to do this alone anymore, and I’m not going to let it happen. Please, let me take care of you this time.

“We can run away somewhere. Somewhere far from here. We can run until we find a new home for hopefuls like us. Take off your soldier gears, your earpiece, and I’ll take off mine. We will wear clothes that’ll let us breathe. We can… be kids again because we never got to be. And Samu, you can be selfish now. Be selfish for me, and I’ll be selfless for you. I love you, ‘Samu,” he chuckles, holding Osamu’s hand to his mouth. “I’ll end this dystopia for your euphoria. I may not have a whole ass Bible verse version two for you, but I won’t get tired of saying I love you to you like a prayer.”

What Suna fears the most is rejection. The loss of validation. The absence of trust. But he needs to accept it — if Osamu chooses to be nicer to himself this time. Because Suna is okay with it. If the Fates decide to let them be just as close as this and nothing more than that, he will accept it, as long as he gets to hold his hand more. As long as he gets to read more manga with him. As long as he gets to be a child with him again. As long as there’s still a blooming flower on the land of everlasting drought.

“Okay, Sunroom Rivers,” Osamu smirks. “Prove it to me. Prove that you can flip Hell over and turn it into a sanctuary of peace with me.”

“You’re on, Omega Marine.”

**MIYA OSAMU : [ OMEGA MARINE ]**

**STATUS : PERMANENTLY RETIRED**

**SUNA RINTAROU : [ SUNROOM RIVERS ]**

**STATUS : UNKNOWN ( UNCONFIRMED RESIGNATION )**

—

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not posting the KenHina side story but you already had a glimpse of it here hehe. 
> 
> In the ending, what do you think happens next?


End file.
